


A Lonely Church

by PeacefulPhoenix



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Conversations with God, Deacon's past, Found family relationship for Deacon and Glory, Gen, I don't believe there's any blasphemy or anything like that, I'm not an expert on religion so sorry if I get things a little wrong, Mostly though it's just a lot of talking and thinking, Philosophical pondering about the humanity of robots, Religion, a rather one side conversation really, cannibalism mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deacon know that people used to believe in some god watching over them and a heaven waiting for them after they die. He's not so sure. All he does know is that if such a thing existed, synths deserve it too -- Barbara deserves it. So he finds a church and has a conversation with God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lonely Church

Deacon sat for hours in silence in a small church nestled at the end of a small road, far away from all the big cities. Radstags wandered slowly through the grass peeking through the dirt and flowers poked through holes in the walls like weeds. The raiders and ferals and mutants that seemed to have tainted every other part of the Commonwealth were remarkably absent here. Perhaps it was because there was nothing of note in the small building. There was no food or ammo or even comics. Scattered across the floor were burnt bibles and charred bones. 

Years ago, when he still lived in a farmhouse with a small plot of land with his wife Barbara not far from here, Deacon had read a hebrew bible, not much different than the ones now surrounding him. It had seemed as foreign to him as what little Greek Mythology he had read. Stories of miracles and a watchful god caring for his creations on Earth… It was fanciful - a nice break from the real world. These days, no one would watch out for you but yourself. There were no miracles in the Wasteland. Only death and prolonging the inevitable. 

Yet Deacon found himself hunched over in a pew, chin caught in hands clasped together, elbows resting on knees. It was a hopeless idea, he knew that. Whatever god may have once lived had surely died with his children in those bombs. Despite that, Deacon found himself speaking.

“I’ve never done this,” he started. “Honestly, I’m not sure I believe you can even hear me. But… I have to try.” Fingers of sunlight passing through a stained glass window painted the room, casting blue across the man’s face. “I’m not sure how this whole thing works but my name is Deacon - well it’s not but that’s hardly the important part. My wife, Barbara. She’s dead.”

Sunglasses were pushed up the bald man’s forehead as he rubbed her fingers into his eyes. “I remember reading something in your book about repentance. I have so much to repent for. I have murdered. I have lied. I have stolen. I have hurt those I love. I have hated people just for being unfortunate enough to be made and not born. I have very little right to be asking favors yet here I am.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but there are synths now. Synthetic humans. They act like us, think like us, live like us, love like us. Someone’s done a damn good job replicating your work. But, you see, not everyone thinks so. I didn’t used to think so. Some people want to kill them. They think that they’re just machines - that they don’t have souls. I disagree. You see, Barbara was a synth. 

“If you are real, that means heaven might be too. And if heaven’s anything like how your book described… I need to know that Barbara made it. I don’t know if synths have souls. Maybe they don’t like humans do but she’s the kindest person I ever knew. It’s hardly my place to tell you how to judge a person but she deserves to live out eternity in a place like that. I’ll gladly trade my soul, my after-life, for hers. If she has a soul... Please.”

The world once again fell silent as Deacon covered his mouth with his hand and stared down at the floor. Around him the building creaked and moaned with each passing wind. Leaves and branches cracked under hooved steps outside but even that seemed muted. There was no gunfire, no people besides the one sitting on the pew. Just nature. Something seemed right here. Like everything else in the world didn’t matter. A promise that one day everything would die and the world would keep going. 

Deacon waited there for hours without speaking or moving again. He listened, he watched. Colored light danced across the grass pushing its way through decaying floor tiles. Dust hung in the air. Birds flitted through broken glass and roosted in the rafters. At one point, a radstag doe even peaked its head in the building before catching sight of him and bouncing away.

The book had told him that god spoke sometimes. In signs or in words that could be heard if one were to listen carefully. Every whisper of wind and light and creature could be a sign. He could interpret them any way he wanted but when it boiled down to it, Deacon had no way of knowing if he’d been heard. He had no way of knowing if this god was still alive or if he would do as Deacon asked. 

As the sun set, Deacon rose, muscles protesting. It was time to leave, to return to the real world. Either it had worked or it hadn’t. Maybe he’d even find out which one day.

\----------

The moon was already sinking in the sky by the time Deacon slinked into the Railroad base. His journey home had been without incident. Sticking to the shadows and moving without a sound was usually good for that sort of thing. When he’d stepped away from that church, reality had hit him like a truck. For the first hour, he was able to forget that the world wasn’t tranquil. Then he saw raider eating the flesh of a farmer.

Could a god that would let this happen really let Barbara into a land of eternal peace? Was anyone getting in these days? It seemed no one was free of sin. Even Garvey had blood on his hands. Desdemona, Sole, Hancock, Deacon himself; if there was a hell, that’s where they were going along with every piece of shit, sorry excuse for a human filling this burnt husk of a world. 

Thoughts flooded his mind, sometimes buzzing so loudly he wondered if something might hear them. He had needed to go -- he knew that -- but now it all seemed like a mistake. Walls that had put up years ago and maintained ever since had begun to crack. Possibilities he’d never allowed him to consider were now front and center. The real possibility that Barbara had no soul played over and over.

She’d been a real person. He truly believe that but… Had she? Had everything he loved about her, the smile when she caught him in a lie, the way she tossed her hair this way and thought, trying to stop it from sticking to the sweat on her neck, the way she held him, been a result of programming? Was there some scientist at the Institute that had coded her every action? Had there once been a human Barbara or just the synth one? 

Every fiber of Deacon’s body and mind ached as he spun the password for the base. All he wanted to do was fall into his bed and never rise again. Perhaps he could learn her fate that way. Perhaps he could see her again. The universe had different plans.

Sitting on one of the small ledges just inside the door was Glory, one boot kicking the heel of the other lazily. Her eyes flit up only long enough to recognize him before looking down again. “You’re getting back pretty late, bro. What mission were you working?” Normally, they weren’t supposed to discuss these sorts of things. Need to know basis and what not. With Glory and Deacon it was different. Always had been. 

With a sigh, he sat beside her, pulling off his sunglasses and laying them on the stones beside him. “No mission. Just some personal business.” No one at the Railroad knew about his past. The one who’d first brought him in did but they’d passed long ago. Not even Des knew. Just saying that felt like another weight was added to his shoulder. He hated keeping things from Glory. 

Instantly, she picked up on the subtle shift in his attitude and rest a hand on his shoulder. “What personal business? Are you okay?” Her voice was gentler than normal but still had a hint of it’s usual rasp. She leaned in just enough to catch his eyes for a split second. Something was very, very wrong. “What happened out there?”

He feigned a smile and a laugh, rather poorly compared to his usual work, and placed one of his hands atop the one on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he promised, meeting her gaze. All the same questions that had played earlier ran before his eyes again. Was Glory real or programmed? Did she have a soul?

It was obvious in the way her hand tightened its grip and her lips pursed that she wasn’t pleased with the answer but she knew better than to argue with him. He wouldn’t tell, never did. “Well you know I got your back.” It was several seconds before anything else moved, indecision still plain on her face. “Glad you’re back,” she finally finished, standing and walking back into the main headquarters.

Deacon couldn’t follow her. Thoughts were alive in his mind once again and it would be hours before he calmed them enough for some semblance of sleep. Returning the shades to his nose, he prepared for what was going to be a very long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one for a while now and any comments or kudos would me a lot to me if you liked it!


End file.
